


Dreams

by Katzedecimal



Series: Dreams [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friendship/Love, Gen, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-11
Updated: 2012-03-11
Packaged: 2017-11-01 19:49:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katzedecimal/pseuds/Katzedecimal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson may have to face their deepest fears - but not alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams

John had nightmares. That was to be expected of someone with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder; once Sherlock had learned of that, he knew to prepare for them. And he knew to expect the night terrors, those deeply-driven nightmares that took place without benefit of the usual muscle locks. So he'd grown used to jolting awake to the sound of John screaming, and flying up to his room to catch him before he could hurt himself. 

That had been the tricky part, because John's mind was apt to see him as a soldier, a terrorist, a suicide bomber - an enemy of some sort, and react accordingly. He'd learned a lot about John Watson's past by listening to his dreams. He'd had to find a way to reach into John's dreams and engage him in his present, then steer him around back to their present. Ironically, he'd stumbled onto that one purely by accident.

Sherlock was still awake when he realized that the howls he was hearing weren't the wind. So he tore himself away from his microscope and rushed to John's side, catching him before he could fall. "John! John, come quickly! We've got a case!!" he said with acted excitement. Remembering the day he'd burst into John's room with those words, unaware that John had been gripped in a night terror. 

"...wh.... c'se? ... wha.. Sh'rl'k?"

"Yes John, it's me, John, it's Sherlock. Lestrade has a case for us."

"...tha's g'd... sh'rl'k l'kes c'ses... 'lse h' g's w'bbly..."

There was the added entertainment value of John's incoherant babbling too, of course. Sherlock suppressed his chuckles against John's shoulder as he pulled him closer. "Yes John, Sherlock likes cases. It's a good case. Someone's drowned a bunch of lizards in a tankful of Jello. It's animal cruelty, John! I need your help to solve it."

"..'kay... 's g'd... l'ke t' h'lp sh'rl'k..."

"Yes John," Sherlock said softly as John calmed, "I know you do." He pet his friend into deeper sleep. 

In the morning, John would pour the coffee and complain, "I had the oddest dream last night. I dreamt we were on a case and someone had put lizards in Jello. Then there was a bomb and we legged it behind a tanker and the jello exploded and there was Mycroft, covered in two hundred tonnes of aspic. Where in the world do I get these ideas?"

"I couldn't say," Sherlock always replied, but never with a straight face - the visuals were just too good.

But John knew, of course. He knew he had night terrors, it was one aspect of him that his girlfriends simply hadn't been able to cope with. Sometimes, he had memories, fuzzy and swimmy, of Sherlock helping him off the floor, putting him back to bed, murmuring nonsense words that brushed away the fear without pulling him out of sleep. Sometimes, he had memories, fuzzy and swimmy, of falling back to sleep to the sound of a steady heartbeat, perfectly measured breaths, and the smell of the skin glue on nicotine patches. 

Which is why he gave back, when Sherlock had reappeared, three years later, with his own PTSD symptoms. He had his own night terrors, reliving every microsecond on the roof of St. Bart's. John had learned a lot about Sherlock Holmes by listening to his dreams. He'd had to find a way to reach into Sherlock's dreams and engage him in his present, then steer him around back to their present. Ironically, it was by exactly the same means.

He caught Sherlock's hand and said, "Sherlock! Sherlock, it's John! Sherlock, come away from there, come quickly! Lestrade has a case for us!"

"...' c'se?" Sherlock mumbled, confused, as John tugged his hand and steered him back into bed, "...wha' b't m'r'ar'ty?"

"Ohhh that devil, he's kidnapping kittens! Molly's terribly upset. Molly's counting on you to save the kittens, Sherlock! And Mycroft's got his head stuck in a bucket!"

"...wh't, ag'n?"

"Yes, Sherlock. You'll need all your wits about you."

"...n'd j'hn..."

"Yes, Sherlock," John said softly as Sherlock calmed, "I know you do." He pet his friend into deeper sleep.

And in the morning, John made coffee and laughed while Sherlock described a dream about Mycroft getting his head stuck in a bucket of kittens.


End file.
